


Wildflower

by Scornful_truth



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Extended Metaphors, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mystery, New Dangan Ronpa V3 Spoilers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29206125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scornful_truth/pseuds/Scornful_truth
Summary: "Spoilers, we may die in the end."[ An Actor Au where things aren't as innocent as they appear. ]Disclaimer:I wrote this for the pure fun of writing. And I'm not going to let a 100 paged story sit idle in my docs. I hope those who read it find it enjoyable.Updates Weekends
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 29
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1 [Filming progress - 15% complete]

**Author's Note:**

> Warning! This was solely a passion project. So it may not be the smoothest thing. 
> 
> It was fun to just creatively be free and write what I wanted in a way that I wanted without worrying if people liked it or not. So hold low expectations!

There was nothing more exhilarating than feeling the stage light heat bear down on him.

There’s no place Shuichi would rather be.

As uncomfortable as it might be, the heat takes a back seat when the scripted words fall off his tongue. His body warms with the thrill of his character. Rather than reenacting, he feels every flame of passion flicker inside him. He feels every blooming burst of ardor and excitement. And although it’s written in a script, he takes its art, it's writing, all its emotion, and makes it his own.

It was a coping mechanism for him, ever since he began theater. Like many, he was plagued with anxiety. Offstage he was shy and oftentimes soft-spoken. Nervous habits would weed their way into his everyday life, anxiously tugging on his bangs, or chewing on his lips so often that he’d break the skin. 

Not even his uncle suspected that he’d be enthusiastic about acting. To Shuichi, it’s the one place he could escape himself. To pretend to be someone else. He could thrive in the life of a character, someone brave, perhaps a villain, maybe the best friend of a hero, or the lead part of the whole performance. 

Escaping Shuichi Saihara.

Leaving behind his frail and weak mind.

Making the nerve gripping, migraine-causing decision to join Team Danganronpa’s productions had absolutely torn him in two. 

The show in itself was unique apart from anything Shuichi’s seen. Not only was it a large corporation that would potentially plaster his face on every poster imaginable, but they unfold its story based on the actors themselves. 

They want young actors who’ve never had a grand debut. The reason they do this is that they take 16 actors, using their real personality and name, to create the famous killing game series. All plots and deaths are to be written off of one's key elements as a person. 

Those who join this production are paid impressive sums of money. It’s an incredibly popular show. Hundreds of teens and young adults audition to catch this once in a lifetime opportunity to become famous. 

Why did Shuichi audition? Why did he audition when he reels at the sound of his own name? He chokes at the idea of talking to others like himself. He could hardly bear being beside his parents, who he doesn’t like in the slightest. Why did he audition for a show that takes those parts of him and highlights them with the brightest stage light?

He’d laugh every time someone asked. Swallowing the threat of nervous tears when he answers. 

He did it because a friend (more like a distant acquaintance) dared him. 

It was so stupid, so juvenile. He shrugged it off, having done thousands of auditions, he submitted one (It was as easy as recording himself answering a few questions). Once done, he sat back on the couch that night thinking nothing of it. He had no faith, absolutely no belief that he would be chosen out of all those fans, who would give their life to be a part of the show. 

Shuichi’s never even watched Danganronpa before.

Maybe he saw someone watching an episode out of all 52 seasons once or twice. It wasn’t like the series was foreign to him. He knew of it but never engrossed himself in the fandom.

This is why the morning he got the email, many months later, that he had been accepted into the production, had left him shocked. He was months from turning 18, still lived with his uncle, and quite frankly dreaded be famous. When he walked out of his room that day, he sat at the table and stared mindlessly at nothing. His mind blank, his tongue dry, nausea and nerves built in his throat. The moment his uncle asked him what was wrong, is the moment he broke. 

It didn’t help when his uncle laughed hard once he told his story. Meanwhile, Shuichi was crying over the greatest moment of his life. He couldn't suddenly drop out, they chose him because his personality fit their ideas, months went into choosing just him, backing out was asking to be sued. 

That day his uncle patted his back, while Shuichi was surrounded by crumpled soggy tissues, he gently reassured him that at least he wasn’t the protagonist. 

Lo and behold he was the protagonist.

When he arrived at the first meeting of all the actors and actresses, they talked about their role and what to expect. Shuichi felt rigid with nerves to see his ID card. Many times throughout that meeting he felt like he was going to be sick.  _ At least he wasn’t the protagonist? hah.  _

“Hey, you look a bit pale, are you okay?”

Shuichi jerked his head to meet the violet eyes of a girl. He had just excused himself to the bathroom when he really just wanted to stand outside in the hall and detox from the overabundance of people. There were the actors, and actresses, the directors, the tech crew, and other people who worked on the stage and filming. All of which overwhelmed him. 

He swallowed roughly, wringing his clammy hands as he stared at her nose. Avoiding eye contact always gave him a moment to think. “I-I’m fine… I’m just,” He took a short breath, “...new to this.” 

By that, he means being himself. But he prayed she assumed he meant acting. He’s perfectly okay with being thought of as an amateur. He squinted down at her ID tag, her name, Akamatsu Kaede, bore on her chest. She gave a light chuckle, “I see, well if it helps any, I’m nervous too! I’m sure the nerves will disappear once we start filming, and... well,” Her bright smile faded to something more hesitant. It reflected in her eyes. “I was also advised to talk to you since the first scenes will be us,”

Ah, that’s right. Shuichi couldn’t help but wince. Saying that was like being told someone only asked you out as a dare. But he supposed he deserved it, what comes around goes around. 

“So let’s hang out after this, what do you say?” Her smile returned, this time he noticed it was less forced. Shuichi still stared down at anything but her eyes. 

“Sure,” He said, nodding. “That… would be nice actually.” 

“Great! It’s a date!”

She waved at him and left down the hall. He stared at her back as she waved at a few other actresses. People were filing out of the room and heading for the exit. 

_ Ah, it must be over. _ He thought. It’d be wiser not to miss any more meetings.

With that, the start of a nerve-wracking performance began. Shuichi would love to argue that it was easily the worst, and the hardest part he ever played. The character he was playing was Shuichi Saihara, meaning he had to act like himself. Which had never been harder. Even before filming he was clammy and sweaty, burning with so much nervous energy that he had to take a lot of walks. 

He swore he’d try his best. But like his one small-town theatre director said,  _ “...The opening scene sets the tone for the entire play.”  _

Naturally, Shuichi was nervous. He was tense and shaking with apprehension. During the first scene, all he had to do was step out of the locker and act scared to see Kaede. 

But instead of making a flawless opening like Kaede, he shoved too hard and crashed out of the locker, thwacking his head on the floor, and genuinely jumping back, startled when Kaede tried to reach over to help him up.

His face burned white with embarrassment. But he managed to choke out his lines. His tongue felt like rubber in his mouth, his lips numb, his face felt sweaty and too hot. Humiliated by his first obvious failure, he couldn’t help but flutter his fingers over the rim of his cap, shielding his eyes so he could pretend no one could see him.

After, he was expecting a lecture. But the director came up to him and shook his hand, exclaiming happily that it was the best improv he’d ever seen. And not only that, but it was perfect for the mood of the story. 

They kept filming after that. While Shuichi located the nearest vending machine and comforted himself with juice boxes while they prepped the exisals to show.

This whole show was going to be a disaster, and he didn’t doubt it for a second.

* * *

  
  


Over the next couple of weeks, Shuichi sacrificed his free time to watch the endless seasons of Danganronpa. 

He asked anonymously on a few websites which seasons were the best, and which were the worst, and binged them in the darkness of his room at night. He was still finishing up schooling and had to balance his nonexistent social life, with his acting one, and the show he swore he’d watch. So he could actually know something about this company.

He did research, trying to find at least one review out of the 832 other actors who participated in Danganronpa. Finally, after hours of scouring the internet and visiting the dark parts, he found a short blurb commenting on the time while filming.

It was a couple of years old and had well over ten thousand likes.

_ Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu Commented -  _

_ The filming was great, but the stunts were risky and the director was insane. The cast suffered many injuries and I never got an apology for losing the sight in my right eye. Filming continued during and after I was severely injured.  _

_ This message has been edited.  _

Shuichi re-read it over and over again. Mainly because after hours of searching for past actors’ input, he finally found something. But also, it had him thinking. He quickly googled what season Fuyuhiko was in, and then followed that up with who the director for Danganronpa Goodbye Despair was.

Shuichi chewed on his bottom lip when he read the name of the director. Nerves built up in his chest and swirled at his throat. The director was apparently kicked off by the owner of Danganronpa but was invited back in recent seasons for the lack of better replacement. 

In other words, Shuichi had the same director who got constant complaints of putting the actors and actresses in dangerous situations they weren’t suited for.

That fact alone disturbed him. Why would they keep something so serious under wraps and not warn the actors? 

But now that he thought about it, it’s obvious why. It would damage Danganronpa’s reputation as a whole. They aren’t the only companies who cover up large mistakes to save their own skins. Even when it could hurt others in the path of its lie. Fuyuhiko most likely wanted to say more on the topic, or perhaps, he did and was strongly advised to edit his words.

Shuichi closed his computer and clicked his phone on. Should he tell everyone? Kaede created a chat with everyone in it to build some sort of bond. Only a few people use it, and Shuichi turned it off for the last couple of weeks. 

Was it better to leave them in bliss? After all, knowing this would hinder their enjoyment of the whole filming process if they constantly question their true safety. 

He gnawed his lip. Sighing as he pulled his blanket over his head. It was already two in the morning, and he was behind in his school work. He clicked off his phone and turned to his side. He was already exhausted from filming and working non-stop, sleep would do him better than any old drama from the past.

…

**Shuichi:** Hey guys I found something I feel like you should see.

**Shuichi:** _ [danganronpa.director.crazy.com/safety/dirty-secrets.com] _

  
  


When Shuichi woke up after sending the text, he was nervous, the kind of nervous he gets before he emails his teachers he’s out sick for the day. Or the kind of nerves he gets before asking someone to please move aside in a crowd. He felt his heartbeat in his throat as he clicked on his phone, and—

Nothing. 

No one responded to it. A flush of heat washed over his face. Since this was not Instagram or a one on one with someone, he couldn’t tell if anyone saw it. But judging by how some of them were on so often, he could trust it was seen, and promptly ignored. 

He gave his bangs a quick jerk. Sinking his teeth into his reddened and swollen bottom lip. He hardly ever contributes to the group, so why would he be acknowledged in return? 

After several moments of self-deprecating words and trying to google how to delete messages, he gave up and drowned his humiliation with endless schoolwork.

Fortunately, the event of that morning was forgotten about, and he returned to the next filming day without the humid cloud of embarrassment following.


	2. Chapter 2 [Filming progress - 25% complete]

One of the strangest, most peculiar cast members, was Kokichi Ouma.

Kokichi was someone who never spoke, then always interjected. He had a soft voice that he used so loudly. And much like his on-camera persona, he does tend to lie (arguably not as much as the fictional supreme leader), and switch expressions theatrically in conversation. 

Danganronpa took that lying part of Kokichi and highlighted it. Much like they took Shuichi’s tendency to avert his eyes and made it 50 percent of his character's handicap. The same way they emphasized Kaede’s positive attitude, or Rantaro’s ominous way of speaking. They were blown a bit out of proportion. But that’s what made the story good, or at least, that’s what he thinks. 

Shuichi’s eyes tended to mindlessly drift to Kokichi, just to watch him out of the laziness of his eyes, and the distractedness of his thoughts. 

Kokichi will sit quietly during meetings while everyone is chatting. Other times he’s the one who takes the tablecloth and yanks all the dishes onto the floor, then runs away while the cleaning crew shouts slurs and curses at him. He was poised and calculated as if everything he did was well-thought-out. Even the stupid decisions such as braiding Tenko’s and Korekiyo’s hair together, or sneaking roller skates into the building and sending the prop bin careening down the hall.

Shuichi doesn’t know why he does those things. For fun, yes, but it makes him seem like an arrogant, rebellious teenager. Shuichi knows many don’t have respect for him. Even the director will utter curses under his breath in his direction. 

If anything Kokichi is annoying... But only when you talk to him.

Other than his social interactions, Shuichi sees him lay lazily on the prop furniture, smile slightly at things on his phone, and giggle to himself while watching the group from afar. His expression is always gentle, and soft. Kind, even. But much like the Kokichi seen on screen, he seems to keep up a mask around others. But when he’s alone, or no one’s paying attention, he relaxes.

One morning when Shuichi was having his makeup done, Kokichi walked in and sat in one of the seats next to him. His purple hair was a mess, his scarf elsewhere, and his belt only pulled halfway through its loops. Bags were carved under his eyes, and his skin was paler than usual. 

Well... Shuichi’s never seen him without makeup before, so it could just be his usual skin tone. 

The makeup artist’s asked him a few questions, soft-spoken and polite as he muttered answers. By then Shuichi was finished with his make-up. As he resisted the urge to blink, as to not ruin the fresh mascara, he looked over at Kokichi again.

It was 6 in the morning on a weekend, they had a lot to film today, and Kokichi already looked beat.

His shoulders were sunken, and his legs dangled limply. His fingers were knitted together, with his thumbs rolling over his knuckles in slow repetitive swipes. He had his eyes closed, his eyebrows relaxed as they began putting foundation over his pale skin. Shuichi noticed freckles peppered under his eye bags. They sprinkled over the bridge of his nose and curved around his eyes. Soon they disappeared under the makeup.

“...Y’know I have tons of pictures of me,” Kokichi said, slowly lifting his eyelids, his dark purple hues sat at the corner of his eyes. Gazing right back at Shuichi, haunted by a cold layer of brittle ice. Making Shuichi stiffen when their eyes connected. “Ya want one? Might help your staring problem.” 

“Ah…” Shuichi should have looked away. But instead, he was caught by the hardness of Kokichi’s glare. He’d never seen that look on him. So harsh and crisp. As if Shuichi had been insistently jabbing a finger at him, and he finally had enough. “...Do I… have a staring problem?” He asked, his voice heightening as his glare poured into him.

Kokichi rolled his eyes. “That’s all you do.” He muttered. “Say Hi to Saihara? No, he’ll just stare at you. Try to get Saihara’s attention? No, he’s busy staring at someone. Does Saihara even know how to talk?” He pursed his lip. “Well, up till now, I didn’t think so.” 

“...I do talk.”

_ “No way, _ really?”

The heavy sarcasm bit at Shuichi’s ears. “...Are you implying you’ve tried to get my attention before and I didn’t notice?”

Kokichi stayed silent for a moment as the artist ran a clear layer of lip gloss over his lips. He smacked his lips and licked the gloss off. Much to the artist’s annoyance, but they made no comment. “Yeah, and I’m not the only one,” Kokichi said. The artist finished up his makeup quickly. He leaned forward to check himself in the mirror. His eyes looked bigger, outlined by eyeliner and emphasized by mascara. “Kaito, the poor thing, is trying to be your friend.”

“...My friend?” 

“Yeah Sherlock, he texts you a lot.” His eyes flickered back to him, the cold glare was suddenly gone. A gentle firmness now sat in his wide irises. “So just turn on your notifications for once,” He stood up and grabbed the end of his dangling belt, and looped them through all the way. After straightening his clothes he glanced at Shuichi, who still stared up at him. “Okay?”

Kokichi walked off after that. Leaving Shuichi staring at the door as it swung close. 

It was... strange.

It was strange to see Kokichi show care for any of them.

* * *

Chapter two, Ryoma’s murder scene, wrapped up successfully by the end of the day.

In the lateness of the afternoon, the sun had set on the horizon as Shuichi walked down the empty hall of Team Danganronpa’s building.

He headed towards one of the fancy and well-filled break rooms. Beanbags, loveseats, extra blankets, and traditional Japanese short-legged tables sat near large windows. In this room, the thick glass reached from the ceiling to the floor and stretched from one wall to the other. Allowing the viewer to see out over Tokyo. 

There were coffee machines, all different types of teas, a vending machine of different energy drinks, sodas, a jug with cold water beside paper cups, a plate of chocolate chip cookies, and the complementary sides to flavor your drinks to your liking. 

Shuichi liked this room. Each time he stepped inside it smelled like fresh coffee grounds. Much like what his uncle’s office smelled like. It was a comforting scent. 

He had just changed out of his costume for the Ultimate Detective, now finally able to relax in comfortable clothes. Ones that didn't tighten around his joints, or itch at the collar. He entered the darkening spacious room, humming a gentle tune to himself as he took in that rich scent of coffee grounds. His eyes caught the beautiful streaks of oranges and pinks in the sky, shining on the wide window. Imprinting its colors onto the floor of the room.

However, before he could pick up a mug and fill it with bittersweet, refreshing coffee, he saw someone curled up on one of the loveseats. The blanket was pulled over their head and bunched up where it seemed they had their knees pulled to their chest. Only their sock-covered feet poked out from under the blanket. 

Shuichi stopped humming. He gazed at them for a moment longer. Usually, people didn’t come up here during the very late afternoon, especially when the sun was setting. There was a teacup on the coffee table in front of them. Shuichi walked over. The teacup wasn’t steaming, so they must have been here awhile now. 

He lightly touched the side of the porcelain, despite it being half empty, it was cold. He looked over at undoubtedly one of the cast members. Raw sympathy swelled inside him.

An actor's job isn’t easy. Especially when their performance is high on the emotional side. They each have their own tactics to act sorrowful, to fake their tears as they cry over death, and mourn in grief. That alone takes energy, but to do take, after take, after take… 

It’s exhausting. 

With the lights always beaming, on top of having a strict schedule, and little rest, it wears the life out of someone. It’s not just feeling tired. People use the term ‘exhausted’ too loosely to begin to describe the amount of spirit it drains. 

So when Shuichi kneeled beside them and lifted the edges of the blanket to uncover Kokichi sound asleep on the loveseat, he understood that exhaustion. Filming had ended not even an hour ago, and Kokichi had already gravitated to the one thing on everyone's mind. Much desired sleep.

He looked at the scarf wrapped around Kokichi’s neck, and his white costume further down. Kokichi seemed small lying here. The cuffs of his sleeves slipped over his hands, leaving only his fingers visible pressed to his cheek. His bangs fell freely over his eyes, curling wildly. 

This time, Shuichi could see him much closer. His facial features were relaxed and loose. Mascara and eyeliner still caked up around his eyes. The black color was smudged against his pale foundation, grey streaks trailed in faded lines down his cheeks, starting at the corner of his eyes. 

Pity and sympathy came roaring back, overwhelming Shuichi as it dawned on him. As relaxed as Kokichi’s lips and eyes had been, stress had been worked into his forehead where his eyebrows furrowed, and how his nose wrinkled even in his sleep. This wasn’t a nap of just exhaustion, he’d been crying. What stung more was that he’d been here, alone, fighting with whatever emotion taunted him. 

A small hand reached over and touched his. Shuichi was jerked from his train of thought as he snapped his focus back onto Kokichi.

Wide and tired dark lavender eyes stared back. The sag of the thin skin under his eyes portrayed his utter exhaustion. When he spoke, Shuichi only grew softer with compassion.

“...you’re staring again...Saihara.” He whispered. His voice was faint with a croak of over-usage. His hand was cold, his fingers gently unraveled Shuichi’s from the blanket. The edge fell over the crown of his head, his face now bathed in the glow of the sunset. “...isn’t that rude?” he chuckled quietly, still limply resting his hand over Shuichi’s. 

Shuichi opened his mouth, but the words stuck in his throat. He still caught off guard at the makeup stains, smudged and smeared over his cheeks. “...yeah,” He muttered mindlessly. “Are you…” He took his hand out from under his and held his cold fingers. “...okay?”

Kokichi’s amused, yet tired eyes slowly slipped into nothing. Joy evaporated from his distant gaze as he glanced at his hand in Shuichi’s. “...You know I’m not,” he said, his voice now level, but equally as soft. “...you just want me to pour my heart out to you? Because you think I’d like the  _ emotional support? _ ” His gaze began to harden. “...I don’t need your  _ ‘we’ll get through this together’ _ , or  _ ‘I’m here for you’ _ .” He rolled his eyes. The whites around his iris were tinted red.

Kokichi sat up and slipped his hand out of Shuichi’s. His movements were sluggish and heavy, it looked as if moving ached, or was at least more effort than it should have been. Kokichi rubbed a fist in his eyes, appearing not to care for smudging the makeup further. His breath seemed labored as he exhaled. He hugged his legs close to his chest as he bowed his head into his knees. “...Every time it’s a lie. Especially when strangers say it.” 

Shuichi sat beside the loveseat thinking. His fingers ran through the soft carpet, pulling up loose fibers as he gnawed his lip. “...I don’t think it’s ever a lie,” He said softly. When Kokichi shot him a glare of doubt, Shuichi stammered to correct himself. “I-I only mean the strangers probably mean it. They are telling the truth, but you yourself have no connection to them, so… it’s easy to forget them, or at least…” He paused, watching Kokichi’s eyes grow distant. “...it’s easy to doubt them, because they are, after all... just a stranger.” 

Kokichi didn’t respond immediately. He sat there, his head bowed into himself, his hands gripping his arms, pulling the fabric of his shirt. Shuichi caught slight tremors of his shoulders, how he’d shake, and yet when he expected a sob, he was entirely silent. Not a sound escaped him. Not one trembling exhale, no wet sound of a runny nose, he simply sat there, struggling to bear the burden he shouldered. 

Shuichi felt wrong to leave him. So he sat there beside him. Leaning back against the loveseat, sitting on the floor to keep him company. 

He watched the sun fall behind the skyscrapers, the room darkened and fell dim. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Kokichi lift his head, his arm moved to scrub his eyes. Another beat of silence passed, Kokichi looked out the window, just as Shuichi was.

“...you know the saying, ‘ _ don’t put all your eggs in one basket _ ’?” Kokichi said softly, his voice aloof as if his tone was fading, and drifting away. Yet present in the quietest way. 

Shuichi only nodded, he wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical. Or if Kokichi just wanted to speak his mind without feeling like someone was there to mock him. The boy seated on the couch exhaled heavily through his teeth. Frustration coated his eyes.

“...People say that because you could lose everything if you throw all your hopes into one place.” He said, his tone dragged in the back of his throat. “...Even though some people overlook the fact that some may only have _one_ basket.” He rubbed his reddened eyes again, his gaze fell into his lap where the blanket pooled. “I’m not… going to tell you anything but…” He slid his legs over the side of the couch, with much too effort he stood up, letting the blanket tumble to the floor. “If you like metaphors… The basket I have has a weak handle.” He walked past Shuichi, his steps slow but paced. “...And all the eggs are rotten so…” 

Shuichi watched as he carelessly kicked off his indoor slippers at the wall and lingered by the door just before exiting. Leaving Shuichi puzzled over his last words he uttered.

_ “What's the point of carrying a broken basket full of rotten hopes?” _

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


There was so much to unpack about Kokichi’s cryptic words. 

There could be so many meanings behind them. Had Kokichi been pressured into auditioning for Danganronpa to take a shot in the dark for money? In that case, it would make sense, since they aren’t going to be paid in full until after the production airs, and Kokichi having empty pockets during filming would put stress on him. 

Or could it be that Kokichi had some underlying illness that had no cure? It was rare but still a possibility. Was he living his last months of life in a game that would repeat his name for years? If not decades? That also would be plausible, considering if his life was limited, dying on such short notice would ruin that becoming-famous dream.

Perhaps he had no choice? There could be someone in Kokichi’s life he looked up to and desires their approval, and the only way to succeed in getting that was to become an actor in Danganronpa? Possible… since if that person is his one and only, or his one person to live for, failing to meet their expectations would also make him think he failed acting. Thus losing everything he piled into one basket. 

Kokichi spoke using a metaphor that could mean anything. What pained Shuichi was that persistent anguish in his lavender eyes, how they seemed squeezed of life, of fresh air, of space to sit down and collect himself. They were stressed, but Kokichi’s stress seemed bigger than just acting, he seemed hopelessly desperate for one outcome that he thrust all trust into one solution. Praying that it works. 

Hoping that the basket handle doesn’t snap.

That the bottom doesn’t give out.

That the sides don’t burst open. 

When he saw that empty look in his eyes, Shuichi caught the glimpses of doubt, slathered in layers upon layers of a dead or dying faith. 

_ The eggs are rotten, so what's the point? _

Shuichi stayed up that night worrying over Kokichi. He’d seen that look somewhere, somewhere it haunted him, it sat on the tip of his tongue. Like the taste of sour food, or the name or face of a stranger. It happened, it was once there, and yet where was it in his mind?

He stared at the blue screen of his phone for ages. He watched the hours slip by through idle glances. Finally, at the bottom of a buried website, he stumbled across it. He screenshotted it and saved the website. 

_ Aoi Asahina posted -  _

_ It’s been a year since Sakura moved on. I miss her as much as any of her fans did! Though arguably more so. She was my best friend, and I never forget to remember her! So remember her too! I am always still angry at Danganronpa for abusing her weakness instead of helping her come to terms with her struggles. So I commemorated a post to her. Miss you Sakura! _

_ This message has been edited.  _

He had watched the season Sakura was in, and a day before her suicide her expression was just as hauntingly hollow.

  
  


**Shuichi:** did anyone have knowledge of this?

**Shuichi:** _[danganronpa.suicide.rates/unknown-deaths/mystery.com]_


	3. Chapter 3 [Filming progress - 45% complete]

An awful hacking cough erupted suddenly as Kokichi trembled with each throat scraping cough.

Maki had just dropped him, more as if she had been burned. While Kokichi groping at his neck, trying to alleviate some invisible pressure. 

Chapter 2, filmed just after Kokichi accused Maki of being the Ultimate assassin. It was scripted that Maki lifted him by the neck, of course, they would fake the choke, Kokichi stood on top of a box that would get edited out. But halfway through his ‘choked’ words, his expression began to down spiral into something scarier, raw distressed panic.

Now struggling to regain air, Kokichi couldn’t breathe. 

Kokichi’s hands shook, but with determination, he clenched and curled his fingers inward. Squeezing them into his palm as he choked on a painfully strangled laugh. That laugh scratched in pitches that made Shuichi wince, it was punctured with strain and disjointed with a lung compressing wheeze. 

Yet the more Kokichi laughed, the more breath he wasted, the more shallow gasps he took. The more his chest rose and fell without helping, or easing his inhales. Shuichi’s blood went cold as he realized Kokichi wasn’t acting. His face was turning blue, his neck was starting to grow redder, pulsing with blood that wasn’t reaching his head.

“S-Stop filming!” Shuichi gasped, pushing Kaito and Angie out of the way to hurry forward. Hardly a minute passed from when he collapsed, but it was too long, he was in pain, and they shouldn’t continue recording. 

He quickly knelt beside him, placing a hand on his back as Kokichi spluttered. “I-I-” He coughed, his shoulders quivering, taking another shallow gasp that seemed to hit the back of his throat too hard. “—m fine!” Kokichi hissed, cradling his neck where a red handprint formed over his pale skin. 

“Easy, easy…” 

The red blinking light of the camera shut off, and the cast was shooed offset while Shuichi spoke calmly. His composure shocked even him. Though his voice still shook with uneasiness and concern, he still hadn’t panicked. He helped Kokichi stand as the medical staff was brought in to check him. 

“...my throat closes up sometimes…” He overheard Kokichi say to the medic as they checked any damage to his windpipe. “...I’m fine, I’m fine…”

Shuichi watched him wave off the insistent orders to sit and rest. Rather than listening, Kokichi undid his scarf, threw it over his shoulder, and walked off stage. Massaging his neck as he left. 

* * *

  
  


_“During this scene I want you to add a little more pressure to his neck. Just towards the end of his lines, simply to capture the desperation of the setting. Understood?”_

_A brief beat of hesitation passed. Then Maki nodded. “Understood.”_

* * *

  
  


[ You are now talking to _Maki Harukawa_ ]

_Maki is typing_ …… 

**Maki:** What was that thing you said about the director being crazy?

* * *

  
  


The teacup clinked on the table as Shuichi set it down.

Just as it happened a few weeks ago, Shuichi found Kokichi on the loveseat by the window again. This time he was awake, a blanket pulled over his head just like last time, hiding his face. He was sitting up with his knees pulled to his chest. Shuichi got the idea that this was the place he went when he was upset.

Unlike the Kokichi on camera, this Kokichi showed much more emotion. Which wasn't necessarily saying much. Since the on-camera Kokichi didn’t show _any_ real emotion. This Kokichi did, rarely, but it was moments like these that Shuichi treated delicately.

“...I got you some tea,” He said gently, “I wasn’t sure what kind you liked, but I know tea can help you relax and improve your mood…” Lightly, he touched his shoulder. He could feel him trembling. Was this how Kokichi cried? Silently?

Kokichi shifted, wriggling an arm free from the blanket to lift the edges so he could see the tea on the table. “...what kind is it?” He asked, his voice was achingly rough, yet soft as if he’d just woken up from too short of a nap. 

“Ah, it’s chamomile…with some honey.” He said. From where he sat he couldn’t see Kokichi’s face, only his small hand holding the edge of the blanket. “...You don’t have to have it if you don’t like it.” He insisted, “...so don’t feel obligated to drink it.”

With that, it seemed Kokichi made up his mind. He reached over and picked up the cup of tea then sat back against the couch. The blanket still shielded his face from Shuichi. It seemed like he liked chamomile, perhaps he should just leave him alone…

Yet that part of Shuichi that plagued him with curiosity itched. He was seconds away from standing up and giving him space, moments away from doing what was right. 

But his urge was too hard to bite down, he reached over, almost mindlessly taking the edge of the blanket and flipping it back to reveal Kokichi’s face. Regret flooded him instantly.

His reaction was startling, Kokichi jerked back, his tea spilled over the lip of the cup, as his free hand grabbed his bangs tugging his hair over his face. Shuichi swallowed nervously. “A-Ah, I’m… sorry. That was… impulsive…” His hands became clammy as he anxiously watched Kokichi turn his head away from him. 

Rather than having Kokichi laugh it off, or even acknowledge his reaction, he huffed a frustrated breath and turned his back to Shuichi, wiping the small tea spill on his shirt. From the small glimpses Shuichi had of his face, his eyes didn’t look too red or swollen. His cheeks were reddened, and his skin pale as the clouds. 

“Are you…” Shuichi saw the rosiness of his ears and the wash of red coloring the back of his neck. “...embarrassed?” Another impulse struck him, but this time he wasn’t so easily tempted. He reached forward again, this time slowly, and touched his shoulder gently. At the touch, Kokichi turned his head over his shoulder. The blanket bunched up around his cheeks, but his flushed skin tone still shone around his eyes.

“...I don’t like being seen like this.” He muttered, his teeth clenched as he gritted each word. Frustration pinched his eyebrows as his free hand rubbed at his face. “...I look awful.” 

_Awful?_ The word echoed in Shuichi's mind, repeating in the same worn and tired voice Kokichi had. “Well…” He slowly pulled the blanket off his shoulder to see more of his hidden face. He was nervous. Nervous that Kokichi would jerk himself away, and that Shuichi would lose all hope of getting closer to him. “...I don’t think you look awful.”

Hesitantly, Kokichi shifted to look at him. “You’re being _polite._ ” He hissed. “You can’t look at me, makeup-less and all, and tell me I look even remotely great.”

Ah...

Was that all?

It was true, he looked different. Without the foundation to make his skin look flawless, eyeliner and mascara to make his eyes appear bigger and defined, the lip gloss that made his lips look soft and smooth, or the large amounts of hair taming to be camera-ready, he did look different. 

His skin had light blemishes, and along with his nose were the freckles he saw before, now they looked far more visible. Speckled under his eyes, and dotted along his cheeks. He didn’t have naturally long eyelashes, or big hues like the camera makes them appear. His lips now looked chapped, and under his chin, there were bruises that marked the underside of his jaw (from when Maki choked him, Shuichi assumed). He notices that Kokichi smiles a lot with his lips closed off stage because he wanted to hide his crooked teeth.

Shuichi couldn’t help the soft smile that dawned over his lips. “You want me to be honest?”

Kokichi narrowed his eyes, giving him a curt nod.

“Okay…” He looked at his messy bangs, how they weren’t knotted, just curly and wavy in an untamable way. Falling over his nose and wild strands dusting his cheeks. “I think you look very, ah, charming.” He said as he held eye-contact.

Kokichi stared up at him, his eyes wide, not with shock, but with confusion. His lips pursed, his eyebrows puzzled together. Shuichi was expecting him to turn his head away, dismissing the idea, but his thoughts were interrupted by an amused snort.

Shuichi gazed at Kokichi as he broke into a light laugh. It was such a different sound from what he hears on set. Rather than bubbly, poppish, and persistent in your ears, his laugh was softer. Perhaps because he was tired, but it was light, between each light intake of air came a quiet chuckle. “...charming.” He repeated softly, “...you’re too funny.” 

Shuichi stiffened at his amused, and clearly, doubt sprinkled expression. “What? I mean it.”

Another impulse. Another temptation. Between his nervous quivering fingers, clammy palms, and the heat breathing down his neck, he reached over and took his hand that wasn’t holding his teacup, and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I do, I really do.”

Kokichi’s wide eyes gazed up at him. This time he was shocked. Blinking as if to take in his actions, his words, and his undeniably strong gaze. 

“You’re…” He took one glance at his hand over his, and slipped his hand away, taking his gaze elsewhere. Staring at the tea rather than Shuichi. “...really something, aren’t you, Saihara?”

His face swelled up with embarrassment, burning into his skin as he took his hand back, on habit biting his lip hard. All the while Kokichi closed his eyes and leaned back against the loveseat chuckling. “Sometimes you get so nervous and stutter over your words and...hide your face… other times you’re so headstrong and bold...all confident looking...” 

This time Kokichi reached forward and poked his nose. “...I wonder where all the confidence goes, hm?” 

Shuichi watched his hand fall limp at his side. His eyelids sliding close. Maybe Kokcihi didn’t fall asleep at that moment, but the longer Shuichi stared, and the more even Kokichi’s breaths became, he knew he succumbed to his exhaustion.

The teacup in his hand was on the verge of slipping out of his fingers. Shuichi took it and set it aside. It wasn’t the most comfortable position to sleep in, all scrunched up on the loveseat. So he stood up, fluffing one of the pillows he had been leaning against, and carefully guided Kokichi to lay down. Maybe he woke up. Maybe he cracked an eye open at him, but with a smile, that Shuichi certainly didn’t see, he allowed Shuichi to adjust the blanket over him.

They weren’t supposed to sleep in this room, mainly because sleeping people can’t keep track of time. But Shuichi would keep his eye on him. And when the sunset too low in the sky, and the building would start closing down for the night, he’d wake him up. 

* * *

  
  


Chapter 3’s investigation was by far the longest, and most frustrating out of all scenes they had taken before.

There were multiple cuts to get the scene just right. Putting Tenko under the cage, having her come back out to apply the fake blood, getting her back in to lie there dead. This was a long, and grueling scene. Because take after take, something went wrong. 

Himiko would trip and fall on the broken flooring, stumbling too much over her lines. Shuichi kept losing where the candle was where he was supposed to relight it. (As it turns out they forgot to put the candle back after getting a new wax stick). The songwriter for the song they sang was picky and didn’t allow them to move on unless they sang it correctly. Angie sneezed while she was supposed to be lying dead (Which was funny at the time, but after the 12th time of redoing the scene it was starting to wear on them. Apparently Angie had a dust mite allergy, and that room, in particular, was very dusty.)

Time and time again, they failed to do the scene. Yet finally, after takes and takes, they managed to get to the end of the investigation. Everyone was tired. After doing both Angie’s and Tenko’s death scenes, and an entire investigation, Shuichi’s body ached. He had gone into the floor crawl space so many times his elbows and knees bruised and his hands had small scratches dug into his palms. Dirt was rubbed into his uniform, and his headache from the endlessly repeating song was growing worse.

Yet, just as they were about to get out of the crawlspace, end the investigation, and call it a day. A loud crack resounded on set.

That stomach-churning sound wasn’t scripted. Unusual sounds are often edited out and ignored by the cast. But this sound was the sickening sound of something hard crashing into another. A similar sound of Tenko’s death. However, this sounded much more real. 

He pulled at his tight collar, rehearsing painfully known lines with Maki as she walked with him. When Shuichi stepped out of the hall, the wind in his lungs caught in his throat as he saw Kokichi’s head hit the floor, his body limp, as a pool of real, red-colored blood seeped beneath his forehead.

The yell of horror that escaped him was real. The panic that filled him was achingly genuine. His heart threw itself against his rib cage, beating inside his chest as he took in a sharp breath. The fact that he ordered himself to keep acting sickened him. He was on camera. He couldn’t be Shuichi. He shouldn’t have yelled, that was painfully out of character.

With straining effort, Kokichi moved his arm. Dragging towards his face from where it had laid limp along with the wood. Suddenly with one motion, he jerked his head up and shouted “It’s a lie!”

Frozen, unsure if to tell everyone to stop recording, he heard the director clear as day says in his loud authoritative voice, “Just go with it.”

No care for his well-being, no compassion towards someone who appeared to be losing blood. Shuichi swallowed the spit on his tongue, shaking with panic, he cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure how to react to this. This Saihara didn’t really like Kokichi. So how was he supposed to act?

Blood poured down Kokichi’s face as he struggled to stand. His face pale, so sickeningly pale. Pain stained his eyes as a quivering smile was forced along his lips. He used that poppish mocking laugh. His shoulders trembled, but he managed to somehow wear that cheeky smile, saying in a wavering tone, “...Did I surprise you? Were you gonna scream and cry in terror?” 

That conversation carried horribly. Kokichi was obviously struggling to stand, his knees started to buckle, but he held himself upright as he stammered and choked over his next few improv lines. Though the longer he stood, the more spaced and stuttery he became.

No one, not even Maki wanted to repeat the scene. So Shuichi bit through his aching concern and wrapped up the scene. Watching with daunting concern as Kokichi turned and walked off. His footing was awkward, leaving him swaying as he found his way offset.

The very moment the camera cut, Shuichi hurried offset. Ignoring the shouts of questions from passing crew members and concerns from Maki. 

Kokichi was found just outside the exit of the set, medics were surrounding him. He seemed to have taken just a couple of steps before collapsing, blood was still pouring from his forehead, his eyes closed, his face deathly pale. Shuichi was rigid, frozen, unable to move to see Kokichi lie there. Real blood staining his white uniform. Shuichi felt sick.

30 minutes later an ambulance arrived and brought him to the hospital.

While Shuichi sat in the break room. Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a day late, I had no time on Friday to update. I hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Chapter 4 [Filming progress - 50% complete]

* * *

  
  


_ “Cut the floorboards in all rooms.”  _

_ “Why would we do that? We only need the middle one cut.” _

_ “Just cut it, the set’s going to be available to fans after filming. Might as well make it real.” _

_ “Alright, I call up the team.” _

* * *

  
  


[  _ Shuichi Saihara  _ sent an image ]

_ Nagito Komeada replied to a comment - _

_ I can’t go into detail because I’m legally not allowed to haha. I will only say during my death scene one of my wounds was real. I can’t say which because I will be asked to edit my message like before. But I suspect the director wanted my pain to look genuine. Even though he claimed it was only an accident.  _

_ This message has been edited. _

  
  


* * *

  
  


For the next week, filming was put on hold. The next scene was the trial, and they couldn’t hold a trial with one of the actors out of commission. There were little to no words on Kokichi. No updates about his well-being or his condition. All they knew was that he sustained a severe concussion, and he was strictly ordered plenty of bed rest. 

Kaede, who worked off-screen along with the other cast members who 'died’, reminded the ones impatient with the wait that health was important. It wasn’t their first hold-up. Tenko once sprained her ankle badly and was stuck in a boot for two weeks, leaving them to film every possible scene where she wasn’t involved. Another time was when Ryoma got sick with the flu and couldn’t film his death until he got better. 

They are used to waiting. But this is the first time Shuichi’s waited with bated breath. This is why he stood at Kokichi’s apartment door, with a care package in hand. 

His apartment building was easy enough to locate. It was a very tall 30 story building, one of the biggest complexes closest to Team Danganronpa’s building. Shuichi heard its construction came full circle just last year, so it’s a fresh addition to Tokyo’s grand city. 

Shuichi glanced at the address on his phone. The 16 of them wrote down their address on a list, it was mandatory in case of some emergency where they needed to contact each other. He took a deep breath and stared up at the door before him. 

He was impressed that Kokichi lived here, he was 18, a few months older than Shuichi. And he already lived in an expensive flat. Nervous, he raised a fist and knocked on the door. A few minutes went by, Shuichi rubbed his sweaty palm against his shirt and knocked again. Each knock was gentle, perhaps too gentle? Maybe he should knock harder.

Just then the door cracked open. Shuichi swallowed hard, his face burned with anxiousness as he took an instinctual step back. For one moment of panic, he thought he had the wrong apartment, but Shuichi couldn’t mistake those piercing purple eyes for anyone else. 

“Hm? Shuichi?” That sudden glare of anger dissipated as he glanced up at Shuichi. His body was already loosening, his tense shoulders dropping, and the grip on the door gained slack. “Didn’t expect you to come.” He said, eyeing the package in his hand. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, I… came to give this to you.” He stammered, gesturing to the care package as he lifted it up for emphasis. “I’ve been worried. We aren’t really told about how you’re doing, for privacy reasons, so I came to see you myself… so ah, how are you?”

Kokichi opened his mouth, but no words came out. He then glanced down the hall both ways and opened the door further. “Come in,” He said, his voice oddly quiet. “Would be rude of me to make you stand out there wouldn’t it?” He chuckled, closing the door after Shuichi took the invitation.

Kokichi took the package with a small smile and set it on the coffee table. Shuichi tried not to gawk, but the apartment he lived in was absolutely stunning.

Marble counters, modern design consistent throughout the whole living space, touch screen refrigerators with no handles. A gorgeous balcony that was wide and uncluttered. The scent of vanilla laced the air, feeling fresh with each ceiling plant he saw. He was sure the bedroom and bathroom were equally as luxurious. He sat down on the couch slowly, taking in this wonderful apartment. 

“Ah, Saihara’s notorious stare returns,” Kokichi chuckled, taking a comfortable seat across from him. Before Shuichi could apologize Kokichi waved a lazy hand at him, “No it’s okay, you can stare. It’s worth the eyeful.” 

“It certainly is,” He breathed, amazed by the beauty of it. He looked back to Kokichi, who seemed tired. A bandage patch ran along his hairline, close to where Kokichi massaged the temple, seemingly pained. “...But more importantly, how are you?” 

Kokichi sighed, “Fantastic.” He muttered, his nose wrinkled in disdain. 

Shuichi chuckled, it seemed as though the sarcasm spoke for itself. “Are headaches bothering you?” Kokichi nodded slowly, his tired eyes flickered down to the carpet at their feet. His other hand fiddled with the hem of his oversized shirt. With the bottom of his shorts slightly frayed as if he’d fiddled with them as well. 

The rest of that visit was surprisingly pleasant. Kokichi ignored some of his questions and gave half-truth to others. He watched him open the package and pull out the soda Shuichi bought him. Come to think of it he might have his own personal fridge of soda to himself, but the spark of joy in his eyes was charming enough.

Shuichi had filled that box to the top. He’d scoured the stores for the list he thoughtfully put together, so it was heartwarming to see him smile at the small gifts he gave him.

There were small candies, a couple of snacks, tea bags, hot chocolate mix, chapstick, some over the counter painkillers, bandaids with cute designs over them, some gummy vitamins, stress-balls, a small milk puzzle, mini play cards (When Kokichi saw them he grabbed the deck and made Shuichi play go-fish), hand-warmers, a small set of tissues, bath bombs, fluffy socks (That Kokichi slipped on immediately), at the bottom of the package was a fluffy wearable blanket. 

The contents of the box were dumped out and sorted through. Kokichi’s pain seems to dwindle and take a backseat the more he fiddled with the gifts he had. He ordered Shuichi to make the tea he gave him, while he dumped out the mini-puzzle. A comfortable air fell over the apartment as he made two cups of warm tea, giving one to Kokichi who smiled up at him. 

Kokichi popped three painkillers in his mouth, swallowing them down with a sip of tea. From then on, he moved with a little less ache. Though still sluggish and easily made dizzy, he managed his soft laughter over a mini-card game. 

Throughout this time, Shuichi watched color return to his once pale face. Warmth dusted his cheeks, and a light of life hung in his eyes. But that wasn’t what Shuichi adored the most, his smile was the gentlest, and radiant. He’s never seen this side of Kokichi, dulled by painkillers, yet alive with the company.

He spent that entire day with Kokichi. Up until the sun began to set, and the drinks were at the last drop, and Kokichi was giggling sleepily, his head heavy as he remained curled on the couch beside Shuichi. Adorned in the wearable blanket. 

Shuichi glanced at the time, it was nearing 6 o’clock. The sun had disappeared and they now relaxed in the dimness of Kokichi’s apartment. He sighed. His heart beat happily, warm with joy and the comforting hot cups of tea, “...I should get going,” He said, moving to sit up. Brushing the crumbs of snacks and mini cards off his lap.

Just as he stood, A small hand caught his wrist. He looked back down at Kokichi’s, whose once tired eyes were wide as he gazed at him. His grip was unnaturally tight. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” He asked, his voice was higher, almost desperate. But hidden under a layer of exhaustion. 

Shuichi glanced at the time again. “Ah, well…” His uncle usually works very late on the weekends. He’s sure he won't miss him. With a light chuckle, he smiled. “...Well alright, what’s for dinner?”

There was something about the look in Kokichi’s eyes. The grip of his hand. The stress built into his body language, which told Shuichi he never gets company. Up until Shuichi arrived, this living space was spotless. Not that Kokichi cleaned often, but from the dust was layered on the surface of the kitchen counters. Kokichi didn’t use his space. It was as if he wasn’t used to it at all. 

Loneliness suffocated this little home. Kokichi craved the warmth of someone else. He wanted Shuichi to stay. 

And stay he did. 

* * *

  
  
  


_ No moon shone overhead.  _

_ It’s the darkest night of the month. When the moon reached a place in orbit, blackened by the brightness of the sun. They call this the new moon. It represents the commencement of another lunar cycle, another start, a brand new beginning.  _

_ At the start of something new, it’s always dark. A step forward into the unknown, into something you’ve never experienced before. No light to guide your way, nothing but the warmth on your back from past experiences. On this night, clouds thickened the sky, not even the stars could pepper the atmosphere.  _

_ The rain had poured all morning and seeped into the night. Flooding the streets. Gushing streams fell into storm drains, the masses of people walked along with the puddle-filled sidewalks, umbrella’s over their heads, looking like traveling ants from a blinded bird's eye view. Easy to crush. Easy to deter.  _

_ Thunder rumbled, but lightning never struck. The rain tumbled over shack roofs, the sound of sharp pangs of pellets slapping into thin metal echoed over his head. A cold puddle of rainwater gathered at the base of the box he sat curled on top of. His knuckles were scraped, his knees were bleeding. Blood slid down his shins, mixing with the water at his toes. _

_ The cold coated Kokichi’s pale skin. Feeling like a penetrating ice freezing over his white complexion. The tremors that shivered up and down his spine caused his teeth to chatter. His hair was matted against his forehead, his clothes soaked through, with a stomach hollow and painfully empty. _

_ The light that cast off the street was blocked. A tall shadow fell over him. He lifted his head from his folded arms, water dripping off his chin as he gazed up at the stranger before him. _

_ He only saw the hand extended towards him. The words the man spoke were echoing, falling on deaf ears as he took the hand that was offered. The words would become important later. His fate would twist and change later. For now, he wanted the promises that came with the muffled words. No matter what it took, he had things to protect, not only himself. _

_ “I trust you will meet my expectations.” The man said solemnly. _

_ Kokichi could meet them. He could do that and more. _

_ “If not, I can take it back.” _

_ Yes, yes that’s possible. _

_ “I can take it all back.” The threat was empowering. Motivating. Crushing stress he wouldn’t even begin to understand or handle. Desperation has got the best of him, it’s true. But his mind still functioned, his quick-thinking remained intact. If not stronger while running on adrenaline. “In just one moment.” _

_ That man could take it all away.  _

_ “Come with me.” _

_ But so could he. _

* * *

  
  


Weeks went on filming the rest of the trial. 

Shuichi learned to like the role he played. He grew accustomed to his character, the version of himself he needed to portray for the camera. Though it was hard. It was hard when he had to switch from one version of himself to the other. The onset Saihara and the offset Saihara were practically the same person. Save for the Ultimate talent. 

Though there was one vast difference that’s been conflicting with his character. __

“Morning Shuichi!” Kokichi called out, jogging up to catch up with him before he walked through the building doors. He fell into step beside him, catching his fingers and weaving them with his own. Shuichi naturally, and openly, accepted his hand.

“Morning Kokichi.”

That being, his undeniable relationship with Kokichi. 

Shuichi wouldn’t say he’s in love. He’s sure he’s still ‘falling’, but not yet in love. Even still, he couldn’t help but think fondly of him when he saw him. He held a lot of care for him. So pretending he hated him on camera was difficult, to say the least. He has to tell himself to scowl, to not look at him, and to stay away from him on camera.

He manages, but Kokichi has him wrapped around his finger.

Every relationship has a hook. It might be their looks, their voice, how kindly they treated you, how they made you laugh, how you enjoy their smile, it could be multiple things. Shuichi is on step one, and since he’s never caught feelings for someone and advanced as he did, he’s quite clueless.

There are the crushes. Those small innocent moments where that person makes your heart flutter and sends a heat rushing to your face. Yet never once telling them. Those fluttery feelings fade, and, probably like many, dissolve into a past that wasn’t meant to be.

It was strange. Shuichi is sure love settles differently for all, but with Kokichi, he never caught feelings the way he caught crushes. There was no heat rushing exhilaration. No heart-slamming thrill. It wasn’t that kind of hook. 

The words couldn’t come to mind, and when he tried to explain it to his uncle, he asked  _ “What was it then?” _ Shuichi had stammered out the uncertain words of;

_ “I-It was… it was just Kokichi.” _

Yes, he loved the way he smiled. But hated the way he ignored his questions. He adored that rare laugh he has when he’s tired. Though despises when he turns away from Shuichi when he offers support. He cherishes those nights where Kokichi talked with him on the phone about useless things, just because Shuichi couldn’t sleep. But Shuichi gets so incredibly frustrated with him when he trusts him and allows him to take him down a path of ‘truths’ only for them to be a hurtful lie.

On Shuichi’s rare days where he’s not busy, he’s talking with his uncle. Venting his frustrations, his sorrows, and confusions.

_ “You’re a masochist.”  _ His uncle chuckled once at dinner, _ “This boy seems to tear you in two, and yet you keep going after him.” _

Shuichi’s heart sank after leaving the dinner table. His uncle was a kind man. He’s raised him for most of his life. His words are always spoken with good intent. He’s honest, but not too blunt. Serious, but never forgets to have a good laugh. He wasn’t the reason why he curled up in bed and didn’t sleep that night. The same parting words his uncle said, was close to what Kokichi had uttered once so long ago.

_ “If he keeps giving you the same result, why are you pursuing him? What are you trying to gain?” _

Shuichi squeezed his eyes shut.

_ What’s the point? _

* * *

_ Early morning chill sat like mist over his skin. The large apartment wasn’t heated, he realized that after he stepped barefoot into the tiled floor kitchen. _

_ He gets nervous. Although his hands may not shake, and his breath stays level, his heart still trembles, moments become jerkish, and his teeth grind. And most times, he’ll chew his thumbnail, leaving red teeth marks on his sensitive skin. His nail was bitten down to a stub, and yet he still chews his skin. Nervous. He’s anxious and nervous. _

_ “Do you like chamomile or green tea?” He asked, his voice never wavered, but it sat monotone. Soaking in deep loathing for the director standing in the living room. _

_ “Chamomile is fine.”  _

_ “Sugar?” _

_ “No thank you.” _

_ It pains him. It pains him to be hospitable. It makes his hands tense. It causes his mood to sink. He might be nice to friends, but to near-strangers, especially this stranger, it sparks every urge to just awaken that man’s anger. What agitates him is swallowing each and every temptation to just ruin his day, to snap and lose control over his tongue, using every insult known to man. _

_ “You’re running out of time, the next chapter is closer than you realize.”  _

_ Kokichi set the tea on the table before him. Watching with disdain as he took the cup to his lips. Oh, how he wished he laced that drink with something sickeningly sour.  _

_ “You haven’t given me any script to work with,” Kokichi replied, folding his arms. Goosebumps rising along his forearm as he gripped his shirt fabric. _

_ “You won’t get any.” _

_ The response was so curt, so sharp. “So,” Kokichi chuckled, stress gripping his throat as he hardened his expression. Not allowing this man to see him squirm. “It’s all on me?”  _

_ The nod came just as quick. “I trust you will come up with something, hand it to me by next week.” _

_ “Next week.” He echoed. _

_ “Yes, next week.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “That won’t be a problem, will it?” It sounded genuine. His eyebrows lifted, and his expression softened. He knew by that kind of display, that he wasn’t the only actor standing in the room.  _

_ “If it is?” Kokichi dared stretch the boundaries. The boundaries he knows are set in stone. _

_ “If it is…” The director tapped his chin. “Then your ‘wallet’ will slim down, won’t it?”  _

_ He fought hard to keep the anger off his face. “Alright.” He said, turning his head away. “Alright fine. Next week.” The weight of the stress was crushing his lungs. His head felt hot, panic was weaving its way slowly, suppressed, waiting for him to let him drop his reins and succumb to the sickening feeling of losing control.  _

_ “Perfect.” The man sat his tea down, “I will take my leave.” _

_ When the door shut, he waited till the footsteps faded. When he exhaled everything snapped. _

_ He’s heard people say they blackout when they get overly emotional. Either when they cry, and cry and come out of it clueless, or angry couples blinking out of their rage promising they never said anything the other claimed. It sounded stupid, it sounded fake. A poor excuse, a lie, a made-up story that people foolishly believe.  _

_ However, when he sucked in a sharp breath, lungs aching, body trembling, gazing at the shattered plates, coffee machine, and mugs, crashed and fractured over the floor, he knew he’d lost it. _

_ He slowly sunk to the floor. Blood smears scattered among the glass pieces drops of red collecting at his feet, he hadn’t cared. The pain never reached his mind. A strange numb sensation clung to him. While the sound of his neighbors knocking on his door faded out of his mind. They didn’t matter. His head hurt. It hurt too much. _

_ ‘Then your ‘wallet’ will slim down, won’t it?’ _

_ He wasn’t talking about money. _

_ Kokichi couldn’t stop himself from sobbing. _

_ He was talking about lives.  _


	5. Chapter 5 [Filming progress - 70% complete]

The first time he kissed him was at night.

It wasn’t unexpected, nor was it anticipated. After an exhausting day of filming the beginning of the Neo World Programming, which had him voicing lines until he was hoarse, while an animating team got to work. Nerves wore him down easily. They tensed his muscles, and by the end of the day, his neck and shoulders feel achy and sore.

Kokichi suggested they go grab a cup of tea, more than willing to come, Shuichi joined him. While in the breakroom, Shuichi asked if Kokichi was okay if he came over to his apartment. 

He was fatigued, a headache ground at his temples, his energy was severely low. Kokichi had smiled, that rare smile Shuichi has only seen when he’s alone. He took his hand, chuckling softly.  _ “You’re tired Shuichi.”  _ Whether or not that was a yes or no went over his head.

Because in the blur of his tired mind, he found himself in the darkness of the living room. He had Kokichi at his side, a blanket draped over their shoulders, Shuichi’s arms wrapped around him, with Kokichi comfortably leaning back in his lap. 

Shuichi found comfort in him. Kokichi allowed himself to be held and coddled. He never stiffened when Shuichi drew him close. Since he never heard Kokichi show signs of discomfort, he suspects he likes being held. 

The room was warm. The heater had kicked on after Shuichi commented on how freezing the room was. The heat felt soothing, under the blanket it felt warmer. It felt safer. There were no lights on, they arrived with the sun peeking through the windows, now almost night, they allowed the room to darken.

Kokichi had shifted at one point, reaching for his phone to click on music. The music he chose was gentle, Shuichi never focused too much on it. Perhaps it was soft jazz or a pleasant mix of a piano and flute. Either way, Shuichi smiled against Kokichi’s ear. Humming to a tune he didn’t know, swaying with the faint beats. 

Kokichi giggled. His laugh sounded distant. Shuichi could have sworn he was dreaming. The warmth in his chest felt calming. The music in his ears relaxed his already melting mind, he hardly realized Kokichi leaning him back against the couch cushion, his delicate hands sliding over his cheek, finding his hair, and suddenly he felt the sweet kiss on his lips. 

The kiss deepened, and Shuichi allowed Kokichi to push him on his back. The music still echoed in the background, slowing downtime as the piano struck a note the same time Kokichi turned his head, cupping his face as he broke the kiss with a slight intake of air. Only to fill his waiting lips again, the melody rising and falling with his breaths, coming in harmony with each light kiss he placed over his skin.

The calming chorus broke when a tear fell onto Shuichi’s cheek.

“Ah…” Kokichi exhaled. He felt Shuichi stop, so he pulled back, quick to wipe his eyes.

“Hey...” He gently grabbed Kokichi’s wrist, his opposite hand found his cheek, wiping away a second tear rolling down. “...what’s wrong?” 

“...Nothing, nothing,” Kokichi laughed, although his voice betrayed him, crackling in his throat with ache. 

Shuichi sat up, making Kokichi sit back on his thighs. “...no, something’s wrong,” He spoke quietly. Exhaustion still plagued him, hanging like a heavy cloud over his head. But Kokichi was the light he couldn’t blink away. Constantly looming in the corner of his eyes. Never fading no matter how hard he rubbed at it. “...What is it?” 

He felt Kokichi’s tremble as if he was cold and the shivers from the frigid air never went away. His head bowed forward, tears falling onto his shirt. He leaned into Shuichi’s chest, his shoulders quivering.  _ “...Just hold me.” _ He breathed, his voice was faint, shaking weakly. Each of his breaths was shallow. It seemed as if he’d been choking down this emotion for too long.

Shuichi did, he wrapped his arms tightly around him. He doesn’t know what Kokichi has been struggling with. He doesn’t know what makes him cry so often. He doesn’t know what fills his beautiful eyes with so much agony. 

But he held him. He held him very close. 

The music still played, and he rocked him. It was an instinct, swaying as Kokichi sunk into his embrace. Soaking in the support he willingly offered, breathing in the comfort he gave. Eventually, after an hour it seems, Kokichi muttered a few words saying he should go to bed. 

Shuichi let him get up. But Kokichi turned and grabbed his hand, pulling him off the couch. “...Want to stay with me?” He asked, his voice sounded sluggish and drowned. Shuichi glanced at the time, it was nearing 11 pm. He shouldn’t stay. He should go home. But he still sent his uncle a text and squeezed Kokichi’s small hand.

He wasn’t prepared to stay overnight. But his exhaustion weighed on him, so when Kokichi pulled a notch on the drawer under his bed, and a mattress rolled out, Shuichi was more than happy to lie down on the spare bed. 

He watched Kokichi close the door after coming back from the bathroom. He climbed into his bed that was raised higher than Shuichi’s. They didn’t bid one another goodnight. They didn’t giggle or laugh when the other was stripped down to their boxers. They didn’t smile.

But before falling asleep, Kokichi shifted to the edge of his bed closest to Shuichi. He draped his arm over the edge and brushed Shuichi’s fingers. Shuichi looked up at him, then took his hand in his. It seemed to be just what he needed to fall asleep.

In the back of his mind, before he was swept away, he briefly wondered why Kokichi’s feet were bandaged. 

* * *

[ _ Kaito Momota _ added  _ Miu Iruma _ into a private group chat.]

[ _ Kaito Momota _ added  _ Gonta Gokuhara _ into a private group chat.]

[ _ Kaito Momota _ added  _ Kokichi Ouma  _ into a private group chat.]

  
  


**Kaito:** I’m starting to think the paranoid messages Shuichi sent a while ago were true

**Gonta:** Gonta was thinking that too…Gonta find he’s too risky

**Miu:** so what if he’s a nut case? What’s this gotta do with us?

**Kaito:** Well. you guys are the next victim/blackened people. So I was wondering if the director told you to do anything stupid.

**Miu:** Depends on what you call stupid. Comin from you I’d say we have different standards

**Kaito:** he told me to punch Kokichi again, but this time for real.

**Miu:** We definitely have different standards.

**Gonta:** You can’t punch Kokichi!

**Kaito:** I know that! 

**Miu:** whys he here anyway

**Kaito:** Idk I thought I’d let him know I wasn’t going to actually hurt him. And check if any of you got told weird stuff.

_ Kokichi is typing… _

**Kokichi:** uughh Shuichi’s just being a stupid paraniod dimwittt. Btw Kaito idc if u punch me you look hella weak tbh lolol   
  


* * *

  
  


When Kokichi punched Kaito after the fourth trial, all the shock from the cast was genuine. 

Shuichi had read and memorized the script by heart. He knew Kaito was supposed to punch Kokichi. Had Kokichi taken it upon himself to turn the tables? Or was there a switch he wasn’t aware of? No matter those details, Kokichi had genuinely punched Kaito. That wasn’t staged or fake, Kaito was truly clutching his abdomen in pain.

There were no lines for this event. Kokichi nonchalantly brought the script somewhat on track by hinting towards Kaito’s illness, but hardly anyone was focused on him. “Let’s face it, he’s just a trainee anyway—” He never got to finish his provocation. Nobody, not in character, or out of it, cared for what he was saying.

Tsumugi was helping Kaito stand, Maki close to his side. 

“Kaito, are you hurt!?” Tsumugi fussed, brushing off invisible dust in fits of worry.

Kiibo was offering a hand, trying not to bump the others with his complex metal costume.“Can you stand? Do you need to lean on my shoulder?” 

Himiko hung back beside Shuichi, unsure of what to do to contribute so she nervously blurted, “S-Sorry! My MP’s at zero, so I can’t use any recovery magic!”

Kokichi blinked, gazing at the group surrounding Kaito. This was off-script, this wasn’t right. Shuichi looked equally as confused, but the camera was still rolling, so he had a character to play. Kokichi feigned confusion at the group, “Hey… why are you all worried about this pathetic guy?”

Shuichi summoned every ounce of anger and glared down at him. “Pathetic?” He spat, His eyes swimming with festering hatred. “Just look at yourself Kokichi.” He pronounced the k’s harshly, his teeth grinding. 

Kokichi blinked again, his wide eyes blank. “...What?”

“Don’t act stupid,” He growled, positioning himself right before him. As if protecting Himiko and everyone behind him. “Kaito always has us by his side,” Each word came out snappish and sharp. “But no one,” He breathed, his face growing red, “No one wants to be around _ you.” _ At the resounding last word, Kokichi flinched.

He turned his back on him, the note he left on felt unfinished. So after taking a couple of steps towards Kaito, he looked over his shoulder. His eyes still narrowed with pure disdain. Shuichi sighed, “You’re alone, Kokichi.” He said, striking him hard with a voice of frustration. 

Little did he know this line would become famous.

“And you always will be.”

* * *

  
  


_ Kokichi threw a thick red book down on the coffee table. Grey swatches hung under his eyes as he gnawed at his thumbnail. He bounced his knee nervously, feeling himself pale with each passing second. Each time the director took his time to pick up his notebook, he swallowed thickly, sweat collecting at his neck, burning his skin from where he stood. Hearing the pages flip slowly. _

_ “Well?” Kokichi asked, sucking on his now bleeding thumb. His thumb was swollen red, bite marks gnawed into his skin. Blood beaded up where he chewed and picked at the root of his nail. Worn down by aching nerves, crushed by the stress he sleeps with.  _

_ “Hm,” the director flipped lazily through the rest of the book, finding half the pages empty. “Well, they are decent ideas but nothing that’s great. I expected better.” _

_ Kokichi’s throat tightened. “...Give me some direction to go in, you didn’t give me any goal.”  _

_ “Ah, that’s true.” He turned to a certain page, a section where dialogue was written out sloppily, but just barely understandable. “I like the concept you were getting around here, you could do better with it. I say take this, and think ‘unsolvable’.” He closed the book and tossed it back onto the tabletop. “I’ll give you one more week, it’s your fate in your hands, so think carefully.” he chuckled, bidding him a short goodbye as he headed out the door.  _

_ Kokichi wrung his hands nervously, picking up his book and flipping to the page he noted. He’s not sure how long he could keep up with this.  _

_ He’s not sure if he’s willing to. _

* * *

Shuichi noticed over the weeks that Kokichi’s energy was deteriorating. 

At the beginning of filming, he would walk in with his bag slung over his shoulder, a beverage in one hand, happy to join a group and laugh with them. 

Chapter one is when he found Kokichi sleeping in the breakroom. He could see the mental strain beginning to crack down on him. In chapter two, Kokichi was upset over his looks, as if he had high expectations he had to meet. He looked exhausted. In chapter three, he was disoriented by his sudden injury, causing Shuichi to begin the start of their relationship.

Chapter four was beginning to look better for him, but by the beginning of chapter five, he looked awful.

Kokichi was a remarkably stunning actor. He often impresses Shuichi with his skill. Especially when he walks in, his face deathly pale. Dark bags under his eyes, his shoulders hunched, and his hair a wild mess, then pops on stage, smiling as if he’d slept in that morning. 

Shuichi stopped seeing him in the breakroom. Recently, the moment Kokichi’s scenes are done for the day, he doesn’t stay around. He packs up his few things and calls a taxi home. 

One late afternoon, Shuichi sat gazing at the setting sun through the large window. A hot cup of tea in his hands, giving it ginger sips while the steam blew off a little more. He didn’t hear anyone enter, he was sure he was alone up until someone sat beside him. He blinked as he looked up and saw purple irises.

Kokichi said nothing. He looked tired and beaten. His make-up had been rubbed clean off, leaving Shuichi to see the red rashes under his eyes. Grey stains seemed to weigh into his skin under his hues, and the freckles sprinkled over his nose seemed to pale with his skin tone. He slid his arms around Shuichi. Leaning into him as if asking for silent support.

Shuichi set down his cup of tea and returned the embrace. “Hey…” he whispered, “Want to tell me what’s up?” He asked kindly, tilting his head and pressing a feathery light kiss to his forehead. “...Or do you just want me to hold you?” 

His silence was the answer. Shuichi rested his chin lightly over his head. He rubbed his back, tracing his spine and drawing shapes into his skin. Kokichi’s breaths sounded pained, burdened by whatever he’d been keeping from Shuichi for endless weeks. Always a slow inhale, followed by a sputtering exhale. 

“...I’m starting to think the basket doesn’t need a carrier,” Kokichi whispered. His voice was so quiet and faint. Shuichi tilted his head so Kokichi’s lips were beside his ear. “...I can’t find a point.” He breathed, “I can’t...I can’t find a reason to carry it.” 

Ah, he was using that analogy again. Shuichi sighed, his heart dampened by the pain in his voice. “...Then you need help.” He whispered back, “...If only you’d allow me to.” As much as it pained him, he couldn’t help someone who shoved away any means of help. Kokichi was drowning, and he refused to grab the rope that would at least give him a break from treading water for so long.

Kokichi buried his face into Shuichi’s shirt. No longer responding to him. So Shuichi kept holding him. He didn’t want to think about what would happen when Kokichi decides to stop carrying the basket he struggles to heave around. Does that mean he quits being his character? Move out of the city?

Or does it mean throwing away his life?

* * *

  
  


[ You are now talking to  _ Kaito Momota _ ]

**Kaito:** Hey Shuichi, sorry to bother you at midnight. I just wanted to ask you about Kokichi. since I know you two have been dating for a bit now. Is he okay? I was filming the faked-poison-drinking scene with him and he kept mentioning how his death was going to be the best. I wasn’t sure if he was just joking, or something’s going on with him.

**Shuichi:** Well, Kokichi has always been dealing with some things. Why don’t you ask him yourself? It’s worth a shot.

**Kaito:** Well. I tried.

**Kaito:** He hasn’t answered any of my calls or text. After a while he just blocked me.

**Kaito:** I asked the others about him and they got worried so they called and texted him too.

**Kaito:** They all ended up getting blocked as I did. So since your closest to him, I figured you have the best chance? We’re all pretty worried about the guy. He hasn’t looked great in the past couple of days. 

**Shuichi:** Yeah I’ve noticed that. When did he block you all?

**Kaito:** He blocked me like, two hours ago. Everyone else was around an hour ago. 

**Shuichi:** Alright, thank you Kaito. I’ll check in on him.

**Kaito:** Great! Let us know if it’s okay.

_ Shuichi liked the message. _

* * *

  
  


_ The wind howled over the rooftop, pages of the book in hand flapped against one another violently. So hard they could tear. The cold nipped Kokichi’s nose and cheeks. His fingers turning red from the whipping cold air. His stomach dropped at the sight beneath him, squeezing his lungs out of terror. Yet all he could offer to feed his panic was crazed, unfiltered laughter.  _

_ His feet had gone numb. Barefoot against the concrete roof. A railing stretching around the area, wind whistling through the metal bars. His toes were red, unfeeling, and prickling with the sensation of ice. During this time of year, it got very cold at night. That was good. Good for the drop. The fall. To feel the cold before the pavement. _

_ He wondered how lost he had gotten. So buried into his own stress and panic. How lost had he needed to be to lose track? Lose track of what needed to be done? Kokichi felt across his cold lips, just barely creating warmth with the gentle touches across chapped skin. Shuichi kissed those lips, he held his hand, gently, delicately, tenderly… _

_ How lost had he gotten? _

_ Easily captured by a boy whom he saw on the first day of selling his life away. He won’t lie, he thought he was charming. The way his make-up flaked off his eyelashes, and how there’s one side of his lip bitten red. How his eyes are such a beautiful color, but you’d never know unless you brush the bangs out of his eyes and look deeply.  _

_ Oh, he had gotten so lost… _

_ Lost in the idea of him. Gone the moment Shuichi brought his arms around him and kissed his cheek. Fading with every little touch he sweetly offered. If he knew he was holding a timebomb- if he knew his heart was set to explode-, would he have kissed him the way he did then? Would he have stroked his hair the same? Would he still spend night after night in his room? Never touching his bed in fear he was crossing a line? _

_ His heart ached. A heavy stone seemed to sit in his chest, weighing on his stomach. A vine wrapping around his lungs, trying to squeeze what little breath he allowed himself out. Had he used him? Had he used that boy? Did he take his kindness, his empathy, and abuse it just to feel something other than the dread inside? _

_ Kokichi winced at the possible answer. Shuichi deserved someone who wasn’t temporary. Who would take his hand when it was offered. Who would call him every night just to remind him to take his anxiety medication, because god knows he tends to forget. Someone who would smile at him, someone who doesn’t cry as often as he did. Someone who wouldn’t waste his time on getting tea, thinking it’s helping.  _

_ Someone who opens up, and accepts his compassion and care. _

_ Ah… He’s so lost. _

_ He stared down at the book he spent weeks crying over. When he’s stressed the tears seem to come with it. Though he doesn’t sob. It’s silent tears, always silent. In some ways, he can’t help it. Acting has always been one way to express the emotions he can’t. Funny how far that failed to carry him. _

_ His phone buzzed in his back pocket. He knows who it is. There’s one person he didn’t delete off his contact list. Hesitantly, he pulled his phone out and took one deep breath to glance at the number. A number he’s stared at for so long. A number he’s memorized. A number he foolishly rehearsed to himself over and over like a line for a play. Just in case, just in case…  _

**_Shuichi:_ ** _ Kich where are you right now? _

_ Kokichi smiled. Even if he wasn’t really a detective, he was smart. Always observant and watching him. He’s sure he could read his thoughts at any given moment the same way Kokichi could read his body. He laughed again, piercing cold sinking into his cheeks the faster the wind picked up. “...Oh Shuichi,” He sighed, staring up at the cloudy sky. _

_ “...I do love you.” _

* * *

[Kokichi Ouma has deleted your contacts]

**Author's Note:**

> Updates happen weekends


End file.
